Survive
by de-anon
Summary: "Gilbert felt his eyes slide open again. The dust had settled and, in the gloomy darkness illuminated only by the thick beam of a flashlight, he saw a silhouette hover over him. Curly hair wrapped a halo around a dark head. Blood oozed from glass embedded in his shoulder and a large gash ripped across one cheek." Prumano, apocalypse AU


**A secret santa gift for tumblr user rniq, the request being a Prumano apocalpyse scenario. I might continue this at some point, as I have some interesting plottwists already mapped out in my head. Anyhow, I hope that you enjoy!**

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Every scream that ripped from Gilbert's throat fractured somewhere in the agony that drove deeper and deeper into his chest. Pain clawed at his aching body as dust choked his lungs and faded out his vision. Sobs died into ragged breaths. His own, maybe. Where was he in this hell of intermingled blood and sweat caked at his brow, walls toppling, and screams painted in the heaviness of the air? His boss had just plopped down a file on his desk-Gil had anticipated gloating at Lovino, the new intern, who had been ignoring his advances for the better part of the week-

When the shaking started and everyone scattered.

His desk had collapsed on him, somewhere under a pile of rubbish-a once bright office building that had turned into a cave of splintered beams and electricity sparking from wires. Something was burning. Rain hissing over the destruction turned to static in his ears. Red eyes dulled.

It must have been hours—days—that he swam in and out of consciousness. He gnashed and grit his teeth with each wave of pain, cursing quietly when his voice worked, sometimes gurgling prayers, other times trying to sort through what had happened.

He didn't dare move, until something shifted nearby.

Rubble slid with the marked clatter of a few well-aimed kicks. A figure was steadily climbing over what was once the cubicle wall, squeezing itself between two beams that had crashed together yet still supported the sunken ceiling around this pocket of air.

"Fuck…"

A human voice. Gilbert felt fingers at the corner of his neck and jaw. His heart pounded a thick medley in his ears that sounded and tasted of blood.

"Oi, you, get the hell up. Gilbert, you have to get up."

Gilbert felt his eyes slide open again. The dust had settled and, in the gloomy darkness illuminated only by the thick beam of a flashlight, he saw a silhouette hover over him. Curly hair wrapped a halo around a dark head. Blood oozed from glass embedded in his shoulder and a large gash ripped across one cheek.

"L…lo…" Gilbert managed. "Lo…vino?" Relief flooded him.

"No shit," the other said. "And you're bleeding." With deft hands, he unlooped the tie from his own neck and positioned it around the blood oozing from the sleeve of Gilbert's tattered work shirt. With a grunt he pulled it into a tight knot.

Gilbert only groaned. "What…happened?" His words were thick and clumsy, his tongue swollen. With Lovino's help, he was able to sit up. His world spun.

"Building collapsed," the Italian said, "Earthquakes, I think. We…we were on the nineteenth floor. So…we're lucky to be alive. Why this level. Why did this one form a pocket. There are…levels of people…people who are crushed beneath us." The heat of tears burned holes in the dirt caking Gilbert's face. Sobs racked the Italian's body.

Gilbert closed his eyes again and tested his legs. Debris scattered, but he was able to draw himself first to a squat, then pull himself onto his feet. His desk groaned under the pressure of his weight. The uneasy arch of strewn objects shifted and groaned and dust drifted in the gaze of a liberated slat of grey light filtered through feet of rubbish.

"Lovino," Gilbert said, voice hoarse, "I think we're pretty close to the surface. I mean it doesn't make any sense—maybe the building fell sideways a little—but…that's sunlight. We just need to dig our way out, okay. Firemen might be digging as we speak. We can find a hospital. We'll be okay!" He took the Italian by his unharmed shoulder and squeezed.

Lovino shook his head. "No…you don't get it." He pointed from where he'd come. "I know a way out. Been digging for ages. S'tunnel I made. S'just…fucking shit. Shit shit shit shit shit shit." He wrenched away with some pain, which only made him grit his teeth and curse more. "Gilbert. Everything is like this. I poked my head out. Everything is in ruin. Streets are cracked. Bodies litter the sidewalks. T-the living dead are…fucking shit, I saw dead people walking. They—they ripped a little girl to shreds in front of me. T-tore her flesh from her bone." He curled in on himself, fresh tears slithering down a paled face as he shook harder. "I had to…I blocked the hole. They were gonna get down in here…a-and eat the bodies of my friends—"

"Bodies—"

"Everyone here is dead. Cept us but—"

"We can't just stay down here—" Gilbert said. He ripped at his own tie and dabbed at Lovino's tears then the blood caked onto his face. "Fuck. Fuck. We're trapped in our own grave if we stay here. Maybe it's just Berlin that's like this. Maybe—maybe if we make it to the countryside. Maybe if we make it as far as Russia. Hell, even the United States—maybe there's somewhere…somewhere that's not like this. We can't just wait here to die.

No answer.

"Lovino, look at me," Gilbert said. When the other didn't respond, he eased himself into his face and lifted his chin, eyes burning earnestly, "Look at me. You and I—we're gonna find some weapons. And we're going to fight our way to safety and find our friends and loved ones. I remember you bragging all those times about being a deadly shot. We'll find you a gun. We'll spit lead into the heads of anyone who thinks they can hurt us."

The other stared at the floor. With a groan, Gilbert shimmied backwards and wrenched open one of the drawers to his shattered desk. It came away in a splinter of wood that cut his hand. Wincing, he dug through the papers and pulled out a candy cane, which he unwrapped, broke in half, and offered to the other. "C'mon. You're tired and probably out of it." He stuck the other piece in his own mouth.

He was relieved when Lovino raised the stub and sucked at it. A bit of light returned to his eyes.

Gilbert brought careful fingers to stroke his bangs from his face. "There. S'best I could do. I mean—s' almost Christmas right. One more day and I woulda been on a plane to France to visit friends."

His head throbbed worse than before and pain lanced through his body, but he put on a brave face for Lovino, who also climbed to his feet.

"Lovino, you were so fucking brave to have made it this far. I want you to show me the way out. And we'll go from there. You and I are a team now. I won't let anything happen to you, and you have to have my back too."

Lovino managed a nod. He gestured for Gilbert to follow, his breaths heavy in the dark but his movements steady. "Wait…" He paused near the burst water cooler, kicking at it to roll it over, then managed to get his face beneath the spigot to lick at a few drops still clinging to the tip. He swallowed, painfully, and pushed it away with a frown.

"I have a better idea." Gilbert had begun kicking at the plastic of a vending machine lying on its side. It shook and rattled with each blow until his foot crashed through and he was able to pluck armfuls of chips and crackers from the little shelves. The bottom was lined with bottles of water, one of which he tossed to Lovino.

They gulped it down between gasps of air, then Gilbert used a few drops to dab at his face with his sleeve, to clear the grime and muck from his nostrils and eyes. The rest of the bottles he tucked into a canvas purse he found abandoned near a mangled hand. He winced, recognizing the ring, but turned away before his stomach could heave its contents.

"Let's go," Gilbert croaked. He shoved his empty bottle into the purse as well.

The two began their ascent through a tunnel of debris and dirt. It shifted with their movement, but the walls did not collapse. When they reached the barricade, Lovino began to dig, shoving a chair and several objects back toward Gilbert, who kicked them down the hole behind him. This went on for a few minutes, until sunlight flooded the hole. Acrid air seared their lungs.

"S'clear," Lovino said, scrambling out into the open. "S'no one here."

Gilbert joined him, a hand over his eyes. What Lovino said was true: the streets had crumbled into the cracks that swallowed whole blocks whole. The bodies that had not been ripped into guts and gore had started to decompose; flies swarmed as thick as the smoke that still seeped from burning remains of buildings, and the air tasted of blood. Though nowhere in sight, the moans of the undead scraped heavily over the silence of the destroyed city.

"Fuck," Gilbert muttered. He swallowed and chased the urge to vomit with a few sips of his water, then tapped Lovino's arm. "Let's get out of here. We gotta find a safe place to rest and try to deal with wounds and shit. Find weapons. You know. That kind of shit."

"I know of a weapons store," Lovino croaked. "It's—I used to go there for ammo and stuff when I went to the shooting range. So…" He plodded doggedly on in the heat of day, until the sun waned and slowly faded into early evening. An unsettling wind howled through broken alleyways, amplifying the hiss and moan of the undead and dying. Lovino only walked faster, til he broke into a lopsided run. Gilbert followed.

They reached the store to find that it had collapsed in on itself, but were able to retrieve several thick, curved hunting knives. Lovino grabbed a handgun from the shattered glass of a display case and loaded it. He repeated the process and tossed it to Gil, pocketing as many cases of the ammo as he could. Gilbert added more to his bag, which he'd also filled with the soda from a mangled fridge he'd found. Before leaving, he grabbed a coil of twine, which he looped loosely around his neck.

They emerged into the streets to find that the sun had sunk behind the horizon at the mercy of soft hissing and the moaning which had crescendoed into a song of death. Hordes and hordes of the undead dragged themselves toward the pair. Spittle and blood dripped down mangled faces. The tatters of once colourful clothes were strained crimson.

"Run," Lovino urged. He spat a bullet into the head of one but it surged forward regardless. Lovino shoved the gun in his pocket, taking the knife in his right hand, slashing back and forth to clear a path, his other hand tight around Gilbert's wrist as he ran. The two fought and picked their way through the horde, screaming louder than the rattle of useless lungs and the cries of their adversaries. Lovino felt fingernails rake through his back. He only ran faster. His knife flashed in the moonlight. Gilbert, one step behind, plunged his blade deep and without discretion.

"S'too many," Lovino gasped. His arms had become heavy. His eyelids sagged. The knife clattered from a nerveless hand and he felt himself go down.

Gilbert hoisted him up, took the knife in his other hand, and darted for an alleyway, praying that the other end was clear. He'd just needed to bottleneck the flow of the undead.

He stumbled through a square, kicking through the jagged edges of a window to land in the dark of a half-collapsed building, which he sealed shut by slamming his shoulder into a pair of beams supporting the entrance. They collapsed in a hail of dust.

"Out one grave, straight into another," Gilbert gasped into the quiet. The majority of the building was structurally sound, supported by pillars that had withstood the brunt of the earthquakes, though glass had skittered across tiled floors. Fluorescent lights blinking overhead punctuated the gloom with their dying flickering. A Christmas tree, supported on all sides with lighted ropes, stood tall in the center of a nexus, from which hallways snaked out and storefronts stared blankly like hollow eyes.

"A mall," Gilbert said.

Lovino shifted in his arms. "Put me down…"

Gilbert obliged, but kept a hand at his elbow to help him along. He started him off toward each exit, but found the doors either locked or collapsed in on themselves. He secured the underground tunnels by building a barricade of trashcans, benches, and potted plants.

"This is good, though," Gilbert said, sinking onto a bench in front of a vacant jewelry store. "This place is secure. Secure and empty."

"S'cuz it was closed today. Remember, there was a shooting here yesterday. People…on the news, screaming about the oncoming apocalypse." Lovino sagged against Gilbert with a little groan and closed his eyes. "But like you said, can't stay here forever. I don't think a zombie apocalypse is something you can exactly wait out."

"We'll wait long enough to heal. The possibility still stands to reason…that maybe overseas everything is the same as it was."

"We have to get there first," Lovino said, "And there are like…millions of those things. We can't—we're just human."

"We'll outsmart them. One way or another," Gilbert promised. "Wait here…" He gestured to a drug store, jogged off toward it, and returned with bandages, antibiotics, tweezers, and a stuffed bear. He pushed the animal between Lovino's teeth and spoke before the other could protest. "I'm going to pull this glass from your shoulder. Bite down on that." He began to work, gripping each piece of glass with the tweezers and tugging hard enough to rip it free, but carefully enough to avoid further damage. Lovino hissed with each extraction, until his shoulder was a bloodied mess and he clung to Gilbert with a grip so tight that his knuckles turned white.

"FUCK." Lovino yelped with Gilbert finally removed the mangled bear from his mouth. He grit his teeth as Gil slathered the wound in the antibiotic cream and slowly wrapped his shoulder.

"Don't want it infected," Gilbert said. He bandaged his own wound properly, and helped Lovino drink from a fresh bottle of water. Then, he pushed a few chips toward Lovino's mouth, making sure that he ate, then helped him to his feet with a shaking hand. "Okay, we're going to find clothes and blankets and scavenge for food. This is a mall. They sell food here and shit like that. Under the assumption that there's still electricity here and there, maybe some of it is salvageable."

They walked together hand in hand, perusing the stores that looked safest to find decent clothes as well as jackets. Gilbert picked out thick wool blankets, which he draped over their shoulders, and helped Lovino along toward a tabled area toward an indoor restaurant. He emerged from it triumphantly waving a bag of dinner rolls and a frozen slab of what looked like steak.

"We're building a fire," Gilbert announced, "and cooking us a steak dinner."

"Is there at least seasoning?" Lovino asked.

Gilbert felt himself laugh in spite of himself. "Feeling a little better, I see." He pointed to the door, which he'd left ajar, then started to smash a chair into the ground. "Go find whatever. I'll build the fire."

By the time Lovino returned with armfuls of spices, Gilbert had already kindled a fire out of wood and a lighter he'd found in the stolen purse. Lovino sat nearby and seasoned the steaks, then slapped them down into a cast-iron pot he'd found in the back of the kitchen. He nestled it in the flames, which crackled and licked at its edges.

They sat in silence, even as the aroma eased into weary senses. Lovino found himself resting his head against Gilbert's shoulder again, sinking into his lap where strong arms held him, stroking his hair.

"S'funny way to spend Christmas Eve," Gilbert murmured to him.

Lovino nodded quietly. "Didn't expect to spend it with an asshole." His panic had died into dull fatigue. Drooping eyes barely focused on Gilbert's face as he looked up at him.

Gilbert let out a dry laugh. "I see how it is. Well, it's Christmas Eve, and you're stuck with me. And I'm okay with that, despite everything. I…" He swallowed and poked at the pot with a leg of the chair. "Of all the people, I'm glad it's you. Knowing you're okay…and surviving with you. I think, we'll be okay."

"S'that some kind of lameass confession?"

Gilbert's cheeks lit hotter than the flames. "Maybe." He answered too quickly, then flicked at Lovi's forehead. "You're lucky I'm delirious from pain. S'making me sappier than usual A-and in case this is really the end, I want you to know." He leaned down to brush dry lips across his cheek, then pressed them to his mouth. "Finally got you to come on a date with me. Steak dinner. On Christmas Eve. Guess who's a smooth mofo—"

"Only took a zombie apocalypse," Lovino muttered. Craving the warmth coiled within the others chest, he looped his arms around Gil's head and kept him down. As he spoke, his lips skimmed Gilbert's. "This is shitty. Shitty as hell. A-and I'm scared." He breathed a shaky sigh. "But I trust you. S'not like I have a fucking choice." He closed the gap and gently wedged Gil's lips apart with desperate sincerity. When Gil responded, he only gripped tighter and kissed harder, til his tongue grappled with Gilbert's between shared breaths and quiet moans. They parted, breathless, both cheeks tinged red. "Check on the damn steak," Lovino muttered, "If you burn that shit, I will shove you into the fire." He released the other.

Gilbert rescued the pot from the flames with the help of several thick cloth napkins, which he used much like hotpads to grip the handle. Inside the steak had bubbled and tenderized in its own juices.

"Thank god," Lovino breathed.

They ate quickly, huddled in their blankets around their crackling fire. The tree in the foodcourt stood around a graveyard of smashed ornaments, a surreal reminder of Christmas in the lonely silence hanging in the air. Bulbs flickered like dying gasps. Still, leaned against Gilbert, despite the pain in his shoulder, Lovino found an odd sort of peace, punctuated by the soft beat of a heart near his ear.

A beat intertwined with his own, two indications that the world was not quite over and that—in the midst of destruction and fear—two souls dared survive.


End file.
